


Crimson and Magenta

by Cant_We_Just_Dance



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Angst, Death, Hanahaki Disease, Jamilton - Freeform, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Reverse Hanahaki Disease, Unrequited Love, illness mention, terminal illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-14
Updated: 2017-10-14
Packaged: 2019-01-17 03:39:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12356664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cant_We_Just_Dance/pseuds/Cant_We_Just_Dance
Summary: Reverse Hanahaki Disease: When a person crushes on someone, the crush begins to cough up petals. Fatal if left untreated.Thomas Jefferson finds petals in his handkerchief, and the world begins to piece apart, bit by bit.





	Crimson and Magenta

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, this is @jamisahivemind from tumblr! Make sure to comment, kudos, and hang out with me over on the hellsite!
> 
> Original idea by @philiasperanza on tumblr! Go check em out, you'll love them just as much as I do.

When Thomas first started coughing, he though nothing of it. He had probably caught something from James, despite the shorter man having no cough-related illness in the near past. Any illness that Thomas had could usually be blamed on his friendship with James, but when he asked the other man about it, his argument had been countered with the fact that James had been rather healthy, as of late.

That’s when the petals started appearing.

At first it was just one or two in his bed sheets, softness among silk twisted round his legs and trapping him against the mattress. Some days he’d burst into a coughing fit in his office, keeling over the small trash can he kept beside his desk and watching the petals fall into the plastic grocery bag he used to line it. 

Each and every time, it was as though they were mocking him, as idiotic as the idea sounds to ears not plagued by the sound of a tall, dark man dry heaving up petals. The bright magenta color melded into a quilted form of paint splatters, matching the color of his waistcoat. At the very least, it was rather fortunate that they were the same shade, as it was far easier to hide petals when he forgot to wipe them off his collar.

But soon enough, paint splatter turned to blood splatter. 

He’d known it was an inevitability- anyone who’d ever read a biology textbook in an awkward seventh grade health class knew such things. Someone loved him, and if he didn’t find out in time to reciprocate or reject the feelings, his end was blossoming as the roots of roses curled round his lungs and squeezed tightly enough to suffocate. At least, that’s how it felt each time he held his handkerchief up to his mouth, pulling it away to find what was nearly a full flower’s worth of petals mixed with the crimson tinge of  blood, leaving a metallic taste in his mouth. It felt as though he’d been sucking on pennies- which he’d have to admit was more Hamilton’s forte.

 Hamilton had been acting strange, though. Each time he witnessed the taller man burst into a coughing fit so intense he was forced to take his seat halfway through a cabinet battle, Hamilton’s eyes gained a panicked look. Anxious as to who will stop him from publishing all those horrible policies, Thomas concluded, smirking at his own thought before hacking up half a rosebush. It would have been surprising, had it not been the fourth time that day. And it was only eleven in the morning, soft sunbeams still shining through his windows in a ballerina-gentle dance.

At one point, Alexander had walked in on Thomas coughing up a lung and rushed over, holding his curls back and rubbing his neck gently to soothe the pain. As soon as Thomas was able to lie to himself and force the idea into his mind that it was an unpleasant sensation, he pulled away, staring at the other man in false disgust. At the very least, Hamilton could pretend he didn’t see the way Thomas had relaxed under his touch ever so slightly. And Thomas could pretend that the softness hadn’t warmed his heart and somehow made the coughing better. But he didn’t need to think of that. He would never need to think of that.

Not even when he laid in his hospital bed, the linoleum floor surrounding him covered in petals as though an entire garden had collapsed, save for the very softest of blossoms. Having already sent in his notice of resignation months before, he had no work with which to fill his empty days and far emptier heart. James had already come by to say his goodbyes and pay Thomas some company, of which he found scarce after the diagnosis. Fatal. 

At this point, even if he found out who so deeply loved him, he’d eventually die from the damage done to his lungs. It was as though rose thorns had been poking tiny holes in his lungs, the doctors had told him with the indifferent face that took them so many years to learn. But at least his passing would be painful, and loud, too. The nurses would notice, or his roommate. He would be seen by someone in his last few moments. Maybe that way, he wouldn’t be forgotten as easily.

If there’s something we all want, deep down, Thomas decided on a day when the sun stopped shining through the windows, we wish to never be forgotten.

And in a way, he wasn’t.

The day after the burial -not the day of, for that would be all to intimate for a man he had never been able to properly know- Alexander walked up the small hill and stood in front of the cold, stone grave. Sunlight hit it in a way that gave it a half-halo, sunset splattering crimson red and soft paste pink onto the sky. Leaning down slightly, Alexander pressed a kiss to the tombstone, struggling to hold back tears as the last bits of sunlight for the day embraced him in a stream of warmth.

And in that moment, he almost didn’t feel alone.

**Author's Note:**

> Dude. I love you, you read my fic! You wanna know how to get more love from me?
> 
>  
> 
> Comment something! Anything at all!


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